「For gnarling sorrow has less power to bite the man that mocks at it and sets it light.
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Who can hold a fire in his hand by thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite by bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow by thinking on fantastic summer's heat? No, the apprehension of the good gives but the greater feeling to the worse.」
「Should dying men flatter with those that live?
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Oh, no, men living flatter those that die.
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Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me.
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No, no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.
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I am in health, I breathe and see thee ill.
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Now he that made me knows I see thee ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land, wherein thou liest in reputation sick. And thou, too careless patient as thou art, committ'st thy anointed body to the cure of those physicians that first wounded thee. A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, whose compass is no bigger than thy head. Landlord of England art thou now, not king.」
「Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth, where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.」
「For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground. And tell sad stories of the death of kings. How some have been deposed, some slain in war, some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed. All murdered. For within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king keeps Death his court. And there the antic sits, scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, allowing him a breath, a little scene, to monarchise, be feared and kill with looks, infusing him with self and vain conceit, as if this flesh, which walls about our life, were brass impregnable. And, humoured thus, comes at the last, and with a little pin, bores through his castle wall and, Farewell, King!」
「Why am I sent for to a king, before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reigned? I hardly yet have learned to insinuate, Flatter, bow, and bend my limbs, give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me to this submission. Yet I well remember the favours of these men, were they not mine? Did they not sometimes cry, "All hail!" to me? So Judas did to Christ. But he, in twelve, found truth in all but one. I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king! Will no man say amen? Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen. God save the king! Although I be not he; And yet, amen, If heaven do think him me. 」
「Give me the glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck so many blows upon this face of mine, and made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass, thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face that every day under his household roof did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face that, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face that faced so many follies, and was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face. As brittle as the glory is the face! For there it is, cracked in a hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, how soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.
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The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed the shadow of your face.
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Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow! Ha! Let's see. It is very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments are merely shadows to the unseen grief that swells with silence in the tortured soul; There lies the substance; And I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, That not only givest me cause to wail but teachest me the way how to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, and then be gone and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?
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Name it, fair cousin.
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"Fair cousin"? I am greater than a king for when I was a king, my flatterers were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg.
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Yet ask.
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And shall I have?
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You shall.
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Then give me leave to go.
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Whither?
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Whither you will, So I were from your sights.」
「I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.」
「They love not poison that do poison need, nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered.」
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